Short and Sweet
by imitateslife
Summary: A collection of unrelated drabbles and one shots about Amber Sweet. Rated T as a median rating for sex, violence, and language.
1. Nighttime Chat

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story that appear in the film "Repo! The Genetic Opera".

A/N: This piece - and others in this collection - are from drabble/one-shot prompts I've received on my Amber Sweet RP blog. Unless otherwise noted, assume all pieces are unconnected.

Summary: Amber Sweet and GraveRobber have a little chat after she has taken control of GeneCo...

* * *

"Do you wanna explain this?" GraveRobber rips a poster from the brick wall and holds it up for Amber to see.

"It's a PSA, you nitwit," GeneCo's new CEO says sweetly. "I would think even _you_ can read three, little letters…"

" 'GraveRobbers will be shot on sight'," GraveRobber reads. "What the fuck, Amber?"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, _that_," he says. "What the fuck is that about?"

"That's nothing."

"Nothing," echoes GraveRobber heatedly. "Nothing except my life."

"Cool your balls," Amber says, rolling her eyes. "It doesn't mean _you_…"

"Oh. Phew. I'm relieved. For a minute there, I thought it meant that GraveRobbers would be shot on sight. So glad to know that what it says isn't what it actually _means…_"

"Don't be like that. My GeneCops have explicit orders-"

"Because there's no such thing as friendly fire."

"I had to do _something_," she growls. "The public keeps riding my ass about the city's graverobbing problem."

"So your solution is to have me executed? Good fucking luck getting your Z somewhere else."

He starts to walk off.

"Not _you_," says Amber. "Your competition."

GraveRobber freezes. When he whirls around, a snarl curls his painted lips. "I don't need your help squashing the competition. What I need is to be left alone."

"And you will be," Amber promises. "My GeneCops have explicit orders not to go after you."

"Oh really? What did ya tell them? "Don't shoot GraveRobber. He's a graverobber, but he's a special graverobber?' You don't even know my fucking name Amber."

"Oh really?" Amber asks. "You so sure about that… Joseph?"

GraveRobber stiffens. Amber grins wickedly.

"I may be pretty, but I'm not dumb, sweetheart," she coos. "I've known your name for years now. I just never had a good reason to use it until now."

He's silent and he watches her the way an antelope might watch a lioness in the grass.

"Now," Amber continues. "Why don't you be a dear and put the poster down and fuck me against the wall as planned?"

"Fuck you," he says. Then, for good measure he adds, "Carmela."

"Nobody calls me that," Amber says. Her wicked grin is gone and replaced with abject horror. "Not even my cunts-for-brothers."

GraveRobber shrugs and rolls up the poster. "Nobody calls me "Joseph". So. It's only fair. Now, _Carmela_, what were you saying about fucking you against the wall…?"

* * *

A/N: "Joseph" is the name given to GraveRobber by one of my lovely RP partners: amightyfinepredicament. I wrote this fic especially for her.


	2. Tender is the Night

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story that appear in the film "Repo! The Genetic Opera".

A/N: This piece - and others in this collection - are from drabble/one-shot prompts I've received on my Amber Sweet RP blog. Unless otherwise noted, assume all pieces are unconnected.

Summary: GraveRobber and Amber spend a tenderer than usual night in a hotel.

* * *

It was a rare night Amber and GraveRobber fucked somewhere _besides_ a back alleyway. But the way Amber saw it, if she was going to do this with_out_ the glow, it better be fucking good. She'd made reservations at a swanky, but discreet hotel and they had the room to themselves.

"Take off your shirt," she instructed.

"Cut the dominatrix crap," GraveRobber said, sitting on the bed. "It's fucking weird in here."

Amber sneered, but the snarl died on her lips. He had a point. The lacy window trimmings, the plushy mattress, the sprawling en suite bathroom… It didn't jive with their usual quick, dirty bit of rough. She put her hands to her side.

"Come on," she said. "Work with me here. This was your idea."

"No," said GraveRobber. "I asked if you would fuck me without getting Z-ed up for it._You_ were the one who turned this into 'Pretty Woman'. I was perfectly happy having you fuck me in the dumpster."

Amber sat down on the bed beside him. Usually, they did it in the dim streetlight. Right now, the overhead light to the hotel room was on and it made GraveRobber's white makeup and multi-colored hair look more garish than usual. She was sure she looked just as waxy, just as clownish in her make-up and corset.

"Well, we're here now," she said. "So, we might's well get this over with."

"Mmm," said GraveRobber. "Nothing gets my motor running like 'might's well get this over with'."

"Just take your goddamn shirt off," Amber said wearily. "Please."

She never said please. And GraveRobber hesitated. But then he slid the fabric over his head to reveal his chest.

"Happy?" he asked.

Amber had never seen him shirtless before. He had a firm chest. Harrier than she imagined. Not that she'd ever wasted much time imagining his chest… A long, thin ribbon of reddish white went down his left pec. Instinctively, Amber touched it. She could feel GraveRobber flinch. She traced her fingers over the sore place gingerly. She hadn't expected _that._

"What happened?"

"Knife fight," he said. She looked at him, wondering if he could possibly be serious. "It wasn't a repossession, if that's what you're thinking."

Beneath her hand, she could feel his heart pumping. It _definitely_ wasn't a surgical scar.

"You don't have to tell me," said Amber.

"Good," GraveRobber said. "I wasn't going to."

Amber rolled her eyes. She trailed her hands over his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles and his sternum. But always, she returned to the strange mark on his chest. It fascinated her. Concerned her. Also aroused her. She didn't always think of GraveRobber as a person. Seeing him as one made him more interesting. More desirable.

Amber planted a kiss to the mark. She looked up and met his gaze. There was surprise in his Zydrate-colored eyes. Surprise and curiosity. As if he hadn't actually expected her to kiss him anywhere, let alone _there_ and then, slowly, she kissed downwards, swirling her lips and tongue against the exposed flesh. She'd never kissed him anywhere but the lips and the neck. She'd given him blowjobs, but that was hardly considered a kiss. This wasn't the place for roughhousing and quick suck-offs. They'd never tried gentle foreplay before… Tonight was going to be a night of firsts. And Amber was always one for trying something new…


	3. Cry for Me

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story that appear in the film "Repo! The Genetic Opera".

A/N: This piece - and others in this collection - are from drabble/one-shot prompts I've received on my Amber Sweet RP blog. Unless otherwise noted, assume all pieces are unconnected.

Summary: Amber stumbles across a crying GraveRobber.

* * *

Amber stared at GraveRobber, dumbfounded. She'd known him for years – what felt like a whole lifetime – but never once had she seen him lose composure. He was almost unrecognizable when in tears. His large frame seemed somehow shrunken; his wild hair, limp. She didn't think he noticed her; otherwise he probably would have stopped crying by now and told her to fuck off.

And for a moment, she thought about doing just that. Leaving him alone before he told her to do so.

But the man was her dealer. He'd seen her through some rough times – often without asking for much more than a bit of cash here, a quick fuck there, which was less than most people asked of her. And he did so much for her. Supplied her Z, never let her die in a back alley, kept his other clients from running their filthy paws on her, put her first… Maybe she could return the favor. Amber crouched down on the pavement beside him. It was filthy and she could feel the grime brush her skin. She gritted her teeth.

_For once, this isn't about you_, she reminded herself. GraveRobber was the closest thing to a friend or a lover she had in the whole damn city. And even though she didn't always like him, she couldn't help but be attached. Just a little.

"You're lucky I'm the one who found you," she said. Her voice was as close to soothing as she'd ever heard it. Gingerly, one hand stroked at GraveRobber's matted hair, the way her mother used to stroke her hair when she cried. It had been so long; Amber was surprised she remembered how people comforted each other. "You look like shit when you cry."

* * *

A/N: This piece was written as a response to one of my RP partners' prompts: weirdlittlefamilyofrp.


	4. Lies

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story that appear in the film "Repo! The Genetic Opera".

A/N: This piece - and others in this collection - are from drabble/one-shot prompts I've received on my Amber Sweet RP blog. Unless otherwise noted, assume all pieces are unconnected.

Summary: Sometimes, Amber Sweet lies.

* * *

The biggest lies Amber tells are the ones she tells to herself.

Sure, she says that she's sober for the magazines and news shows the day after she's been shooting up in a back alley. And yes, she changes her skin so often she can scarcely remember what she looked like before her first surgery. But the lies she tells herself are more insidious.

_I'm not addicted to surgery._

_I don't __**really **__need GraveRobber._

_This will be my last hit, I swear._

_I'm happy._

_I'm beautiful._

_I'm loved._

_I don't feel nothing at all._


	5. Always Us Underneath

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story that appear in the film "Repo! The Genetic Opera".

A/N: This piece - and others in this collection - are from drabble/one-shot prompts I've received on my Amber Sweet RP blog. Unless otherwise noted, assume all pieces are unconnected. This story was written for my beautiful Pavi RP partner vanityandvein. I adore her so much; y'all should check her out!

Summary: He was always her favorite brother...

* * *

Sometimes, she still sees Tony. Behind his eyes. In the quirk of his lips. Just there. Blink and you'll miss him. Her big brother.

And she swears to God she's the only one who can still see that.

When they were kids, you know, they were _closerthanthis._ Tony and Carmela. Names so Italian, they might as well be the Sopranos. It's embarrassing.

Maybe that's why, when they're all grown up, he calls himself The Pavi in a ridiculous accent and she calls herself Amber Sweet without one at all. A big "fuck you" to the bastard who named them, maimed them, raised them.

They get back at him in small ways. Rotti Largo.

After his funeral they sit together in total silence. The unspoken question hangs in the air: _Now what_? But neither wants to ask, because neither wants to admit that they don't have the answers. Now that they have their freedom, they don't know who they are any more.

He's not the whole and fresh faced boy of fifteen she'll always remember. And she's not the baby girl with chocolate curls he'll always cherish.

They're broken. Monsters. Disgraces. Fallen.

And when they've reached the bottom, at least they've reached it together.


	6. A Grave Discovery

Summary: When Amber goes in search of a hit, she finds more than she bargained for...  
Ships: Gramber  
Rating: T

* * *

"GraveRobber…!"

Amber drew closer to Graves' favorite dumpster and looked in. He lay there, back turned to her. Not moving. Either he was sleeping, or he was still pissed off at her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out enough credits for a hit. Then she rubbed the coins together. A usually enticing sound for the city's number one drug dealer.

"I'll pay like a normal client, I swear," she said. "Just… Gimme a hit."

No response. Amber threw the coins at GraveRobber and they bounced off, landing somewhere in the dumpster. He didn't move.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "What does a girl have to do to get a hit around here? Strip naked and merengue for you?"

Silence.

"That's what you want?" she asked. "Seriously?"

The same stony silence. Amber rolled her eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry, Graves," she said. "Okay? I'm sorry I was such a cunt to you last week. I was just playing around."

No forgiveness came.

Amber sighed and began to swivel her hips. _Fine_, she thought. _He's playing hard to get. I can respect that._ But as she strip-teased for him, GraveRobber didn't dignify her with a response. He didn't even look over. Not even when she moaned his name and cupped her breasts.

She zipped up her top and dropped her hands to the side, marched over to the dumpster and seized him by the shoulders.

"Enough of this horseshit!" she snapped. "I said I was sorry-!"

But when she flipped him around, Amber saw why he'd been so silent.

His smirk was slack. His vibrant eyes dulled. His skin paler than usual, with a strange purple blemish on one cheek. A roach crawled across his lifeless skin.

Amber screamed.

She released him and scuttled backwards. He couldn't be dead. Not GraveRobber. Especially not like this. He was destined for a blaze of glory. Not to die in his dumpster like some common street rat. This was a joke. A cruel joke. Payback for all the times she teased him too much. She inched back to him.

And as she brushed a finger across his cool cheek, realization struck. Dead. Dead. GraveRobber… _Her_ GraveRobber… was dead. A lump welled up in her throat. She tried to swallow it. She couldn't.

"You can't be dead, you bastard," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "I still need you…!"

But of course, Amber was met with silence. She clambered into the dumpster, like some common guttersnipe, and she picked up the roach – which had now crawled to his chest – and she threw it as far away as she could. Nobody was going to touch him now. Nobody but her.

She'd never dared to wrap herself in his arms during life. Scared of what he might think, what he might do. She had no such fears now. She held him for the first and last time, the way a grieving widow might: Crying into his chest, tenderly stroking his skin with her fingers. Desperately seeking a heartbeat under his chest. Hoping for a fairytale miracle.

But nothing happened.

Minutes ticked by. Maybe an hour.

"I loved you," she confessed to him when her tears had dried. "God only knows _why_, you mangy mutt, but I loved you. Almost as much as I loved myself. Maybe more… sometimes."

She smiled at him. Expecting a droll response that wouldn't come.

And then a gleam of silver caught her eyes. His Z-gun.

She'd come here looking for Zydrate. She wanted it. Even more badly than she had when she came.

Three days later, there was a press conference. A funeral for the city's Robin Hood. Amber Sweet dressed in black out of respect for her fallen adversary. The only pop of color glowed from a silver chain around her neck. A little glass vial. Bright blue. Shimmering. The last hit of Z she ever got from GraveRobber. A symbol, she told the press, of her commitment to get clean once and for all.

A symbol, she told herself, of her commitment to Graves.

* * *

A/N: This one was written for my RP partner (weirdlittlefamilyofrp) for the prompt of "Your character finds mine dead".


	7. Dress Up

Title: Dress Up  
Rating: T (language)  
Summary: Pavi and Amber have always loved to dress up... Written for vanityandvein_dot_tumblr_dot_com.

* * *

"You look so pretty, Tony!"

Carmela is six and Tony is nine. He sits still while she smears red lipstick across his lips and smiles. He's a good big brother. The only one who will play with her. Luigi doesn't have time for "baby" games. He doesn't have time for anyone or anything. But Tony makes time for her.

"Not as pretty as you," he says. He plops a plastic tiara on her head and pulls her into his lap, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She giggles and wiggles.

"You're gonna mess up your face!" she squeals. "Don't kiss me! Don't kiss me!"

Tony smacks his lips together noisily just to tease her. She shrieks and laughs harder until she's covered in red lip prints. All over her cheeks and her forehead and nose.

—

"Fucking faggot."

They're usually much more careful than to let Luigi catch them playing dress up. Carmela is seven and Tony is ten. He doesn't let her do his makeup much anymore, but that's okay because she'd rather do her own. Today is the exception.

Unfortunately.

Luigi stands in the doorway of Carmela's bedroom. His arms are folded and his mouth is turned downwards. He's taller than them both by far. Carmela cows behind Tony.

"Didn't anyone e-ever tell you not to frown so much?" Tony says. "Your face will freeze that way."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you you look like a damn girl?"

"I think he looks great," Carmela says. She steps out from behind Tony and lifts her chin like an old timey movie star.

"No one asked you, you little cunt," Luigi says. Then, for a moment, something in his face cracks. He lowers his voice and says, "Clean your fucking face up. Pop's on his way home."

—

"Not today, Carmie."

Carmela is eight and Tony is eleven. He doesn't play with her as often. He prefers his books to human company. Not that Carmela _blames_ him. Luigi seems to be onto something when he says other people are peasants. But she isn't other people. She flings herself onto Tony's bed and her curly hair fans out in every direction.

"You promised," she whines.

"Tomorrow, then," he says, not even looking at her.

"That's what you said _yesterday_."

"Fine," he says. "Just- Just this once."

She sits up and beams before scuttling off. When she comes back with her wheeled suitcase of costume pieces, she picks her favorite tiara from the top and arranges it on Tony's head.

"You look so pretty, Tony," she tells him.

—

"You c-can't do that.

Carmela is nine and Tony is twelve. She looks up and sees him in the mirror. She sucks in her cheeks and meets his gaze in the mirror.

"It's my tiara," she says. "I can do what I want."

Hot tears build up in Carmela's eyes. They aren't playing dress up today. They haven't in a long time and she doesn't think they ever will again. Today, she's dressed in a black dress and he's wearing a suit.

"But you love your tiara," he says.

"Not anymore," says Carmela. "It's just some dumb piece of plastic."

She snaps it into two clean pieces and throws it in the trash.

—

"Well? What'a do you think'a?"

Carmela stares at Tony – _Pavi_ – in silent horror. Carmela is thirteen and Tony is sixteen. Not Tony. _Pavi_. She can't get used to that. Just like she can't get used to the porcelain _thing_ he's wearing over his face.

"I think you should lose the dinnerware," she says. She can't tell what expression he's making under the mask. So instead of apologizing, she says, "I can't even see you."

"That's the point'a," he says with a wave of his hand. "I'm very clever, no?"

"No," Carmela says. Then, "If you were clever, you'd make it look like a real face."

"That's an idea, _sorella_," he says. "The Pavi shall consider it."

—

"Another new face, sister?"

Amber is seventeen and Pavi is twenty. She looks over at him with a curled lip.

"I could ask you the same thing, " she says. "Who'd you snatch that one off of? A painted whore?"

"A GENtern."

Silence stretches between them. And then the sneer becomes a smirk.

"You _didn't_."

"I did'a," Pavi says with a flourishing bow. "Luigi is not'a the only one skilled with a knife."

"Well, fuck." A pause. "Does Daddy know?"

"What Papa doesn't'a know won't kill him," Pavi says. He comes into Amber's room and shuts the door before going to sit on her bed. She's at the vanity, trying to pick out a wig for the press conference.

"That's a shame," Amber says quietly.

Pavi frowns. "You two are fighting?"

"What do you think of the purple one?"

"A cry for _attentzione_."

She settles on a blonde wig. Shaggy in cut, platinum in hue.

"_Bellisima_," says Pavi. "How do I look?"

Amber looks over at her brother. His black hair is feathery and thick. His dark eyes gleam bright. And under the GENtern's borrowed face, he smiles his crooked smile.

"You look so pretty, Pavi," she says. "So handsome."


	8. Swing from my Limb

A/N: I still don't own Repo or any recognizable elements from Repo. I do, however, own an Amber Sweet costume...

* * *

Title: Swing From My Limb  
Rating: T (language, violence)  
Summary: The public execution of the city's most wanted grave robber. GraveRobber/Amber Sweet. (Written for weirdlittlefamilyofrp . tumblr . com)

* * *

_"What if you get caught?"_

_"What's life without a little danger?"_

Amber Sweet sat in front of her mirror, staring into the glass with no real perception of her own reflection. Usually, she would be primping, trying to curl or straighten her hair, popping in contact lenses, picking out a shade of lipstick.

Not today.

"We're ready when you are, Miss Sweet."

_"Your father's new policy is interesting."_

_"Scared, GraveRobber?"_

_"You'd like that."_

She rose from her vanity and swept out the door of her bedroom. Her heels clicked on the marble floor and then she reached the elevators. Why did it have to be a public execution? In front of all those prying eyes. Some wanted to see him burn; others were praying for a Houdini escape. It was a throwback to gladiators and bear baiting.

Luigi got on the elevator. A smile on his face.

"The fucker's gonna hang," he said gleefully. "I would have preferred a beheading."

"Me too," says Amber flatly. "More humane."

"Fuck humane," says Luigi. The elevator stops again and Pavi and two GENterns get on. "There'd at least be blood."

Silence, except the GENterns cooing at Pavi. Finally, the ground floor. Amber had thought the elevator would just keep falling and falling and falling. They take the limousine to the stadium.

_"Any more of that in your veins and you'll be dead."_

_"Maybe ish what I want."_

_"Don't joke. You're not allowed to die before me. Who will I argue with if you're dead?"_

_"Greedy bashterd."_

_"What's it you always say? 'Z-up responsibly'?"_

_"Fuck you."_

_"Take your own advice, Amber. Life without you would be pretty fucking boring."_

The arena is crowded. It smells like beer and hot dogs and Amber sees that vendors are selling snacks to the peons. Snacks and merchandise. GeneCo posters. Z-gun replicas that shoot water. Amber's lip curls just in time for the paparazzi to snap a photo.

"Miss Sweet, is it true that you were romantically linked to the GraveRobber?"

"Miss Sweet, how are you holding up?"

"Do you think this will ease the grave robbing troubles for GeneCo?"

"Miss Sweet, a comment!"

"Miss Sweet, a statement!"

"Miss Sweet, words of encouragement for the soon to be executed!"

She holds her head like a queen and makes her way towards the Largo family box.

_"Maybe if you weren't so cocky, you wouldn't have gotten shot at!"_

_"Maybe if you didn't insist on shooting up a block from GeneCo, nobody would have seen us!"_

_"Hold the fuck still. I'm gonna push the bullet out."_

_"Jesus, who are you? Florence Nightingale?"_

On her way, she sees him, bound and gagged. Kept in a cell like an animal below the bleachers. Where rockstars usually wait before rushing the stage. A black hood is over his face and she thinks for a moment that at least they don't have to make eye contact. But it must be hell for him, hearing the cheers and jeers of the crowd, imagining the people celebrating his demise.

The guard removes GraveRobber's blindfold.

Two pairs of Zydrate blue eyes meet. His scratch hers, digging for emotion. He hits the well and tears brim up in her eyes. The gag keeps him silent.

"I love you," she mouths.

Someone once told her it will always look like "olive juice" no matter how hard you try to annunciate.

_"I bet you wonder why I keep coming back."_

_"Nah."_

_"I've been clean two whole weeks."_

_"I know, doll."_

_"Then you know why I stick around, too."'_

_"It'd be nice to hear."_

_"All right. __**Fine.**__ You're fantastic in the sack."_

Luigi grabs her arm hard enough to bruise and drags her away. She wants nothing more than to die. He's not allowed to die before her. Life won't just be boring, it'll be unbearable.

They take their seats. She's forced between Pavi and Luigi. One of Pavi's whores sits on his other side. The other situates herself on her knees in front of him.

"Show some goddamn respect," Amber hisses.

"Sister, please!" Pavi scoffs. "The cunt'a has never shown'a ounce of respect for anyone!"

"Do it for me, then, you prick," Amber snaps. "You selfish, vulgar-"

"Hey, shitstains," Luigi cuts in. "It's starting."

_"Holy shit."_

_"Mm."_

_"That was…"_

_"I know."_

_"I think I love you, Graves."_

_"What did you say?"_

The Genetic Opera Symphony begins to play a death march and the executioner trudges out. Armed guards flank two grunt workers. The grunts drag GraveRobber to the arena. The blindfold is still on. There are cheers. And boos. And hisses. And claps.

He is led up some stairs to the platform.

The blindfold is ripped from him a second time.

The executioner reads off a list of GraveRobber's crimes. He looks more smug than Amber has ever seen him. If his hands were free, she imagines he'd be doing a royal wave. A mock bow. He looks so _proud_ of himself that for a minute, Amber is sure he has a plan for escape.

_"Jesus! What do you think you're doing?"_

_"Can't a guy visit his favorite customer without an ulterior motive?"_

_"Not at three AM. And not by sneaking through my window."_

_"You're beautiful when you're angry."_

_"Don't kiss me if you're just hiding from the GeneCops."_

_"You gonna report me?"_

_"Fuck no."_

_"My hero."_

But as the executioner talks about the punishment for these crimes, GraveRobber's face shifts. His eyes rake the crowd and Amber wonders if he's looking for an escape or if he's looking for her. Maybe both.

She wishes she could be his escape. But she knows how tight security is, how impossible it is for her to do a thing. Helplessness slides like ice into her stomach.

The executioner steps to the side.

And then he slides the noose around Graves' neck.

GraveRobber spits in his eyes and is zapped with cattle prods by the guards. He falls to his knees and his desperate voice bellows, echoes through the arena.

People are laughing.

_"You could give it up, you know."_

_"And go on the run with you?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Or you could go straight and be my lover in public."_

_"I don't do fancy ass galas."_

_"I don't do sleeping in dumpsters."_

_"Love is about making sacrifices."_

_"Is that what this is?"_

_"I thought it was obvious."_

Just as Graves struggles to his feet, the trapdoor is opened. He makes a terrible gasping sound. Amber screams. Graves twists his head towards the sound and there's a terrible crack. He stops flailing. They cut him down and Amber screams and screams and sobs and screams. Her throat goes raw and hoarse and eyes just stare at her and stare and stare.

He'll always be falling in front of her eyes. Falling forever and ever and never hitting the ground.


	9. Lima Syndrome

A/N: Again, a drabble for weirdlittlefamilyofrp. This time, the prompt was GraveRobber's arrest. I own nothing. Except a bitching Amber Sweet Cosplay.

Summary: _We have the GraveRobber..._

Rating: K+ (language, violence)

* * *

Amber watched GraveRobber and the GeneCops from behind the two-way mirror. She'd been roused early from bed for this and if it had been any other Z Dealer, she would have let her lackeys handle it without her. But when Captain Malik's voice crackled over her wrist-communicator, his four words were enough to make Amber spring from bed and race to the station.

_"We have the GraveRobber."_

Even chained to a desk, Graves looked cheeky. He looked over at the two way mirror and for an instant, Amber thought for sure he could see her. His bold grin, his curt nod… He would have shot it at anyone.

Captain Malik slammed a hand down on the table.

"You will look at me when I speak to you, grave robber," he said. His voice was deep and menacing. His white teeth gleamed in the fluorescent lights.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Graves said. "I didn't realize that grunting sound was _speaking._"

"Just who do you think you are?"

Captain Malik was the highest ranking officer of the GeneCop squad that had seized Graves from God-knows-where. He stood and circled around behind Graves. Amber sucked in her cheeks. He was the highest ranking officer because he was the most ruthless. She'd always admired that about him.

Until it was Graves he was interrogating.

Was this what fear felt like? Like hot liquid rushing through your hollow stomach? Liquid fire? Lapping its way through you until every part of you was electric and singed and brittle?

Graves said _something_ she didn't hear and then – _SLAM_ – Captain Malik had smashed GraveRobber's head into the table. His large hand grasped Graves' mane and twisted him this way and that.

"You think you're hot shit?" Captain Malik growled.

"Yeah. I am," Grave said, smiling with his busted lip.

_SLAM!_

Captain Malik rammed GraveRobber's head into the table yet again. Amber heard Graves' swear. When the captain pulled him up, a trickle of blood ran down Graves' face from his nose. It looked broken. He'd have a twin pair of raccoon bruises come morning.

"I'll kill you with my bare hands before you make it out of this room," Captain Malik hissed.

Amber reached to the panel of buttons in front of her and pressed the intercom one.

"Oh really, Captain?" she asked. Her voice echoed, high and cold, around the interrogation room. "I think you've had enough time trying your methods with the GraveRobber."

"M-Miss Sweet…!" Captain Malik looked at the two-way mirror supplicatingly. "I didn't realize… I didn't _think_…"

"Clearly." She tried to sound irritated, bored. Instead of invested. She wondered how successful she was. Then, "I would like to speak to the GraveRobber."

"Yes, of course ma'am-"

"Alone."

She watched as the GeneCops vacated the interrogation suite. Then she walked into the cold, white room where Graves was kept.

"Last time one of us was cuffed," she said, working on the lock. "Was a hell of a lot more fun."

"Last time one of us was cuffed," he said. "It was _you_. What the hell took so long?"

"Normal people say 'thank you' after being rescued," she said, releasing him from his bonds. She held his gaze, then looked away pointedly. Then, reaching for her wrist-communicator, she said, "I'll have one of my surGENs fix your nose up before you leave."

Warm hands cupped her chin, twisted her gently to look at him. Instead of sass or a thank you, he pressed a soft, bleeding kiss to her lips. Amber's lips parted, invited entrance, as the kiss deepened. GraveRobber groaned. She couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure. She put her hands on his shoulders and he stood up, reeling her in with his strong arms.

From the other side of the two way mirror, several pairs of eyes watched. Chief among them, Captain Malik's.


	10. Oral Fixation

A/N: All recognizable characters and elements in this story belong to their creators. This was written as a smut piece for my RP partner, amightyfinepredicament. With whom I shall meet Terrance Zdunich and Darren Lynn Bousman on Friday!

Title: Oral Fixation  
Rating: M (Sex)

Summary: She'd been doing this long enough to know how to drive him wild...

* * *

Amber knelt before GraveRobber, sliding her tongue up and down his shaft, growing him gasping inch by gasping inch. The gravel dug into her knees, ripping her tights and leaving marks she could feel. Above her, she could feel _him_, too, rocking steadily. His pulse jumped. Up-down-_tickticktick_. Erratic. He was building towards orgasm. Quickly, not as steadily as he pretended. She'd been doing this long enough to know how to drive him wild.

It was always like this in the back alleyways. Their little arrangement had always suited Amber well. Tonight was no exception. After she made him feel total bliss with every lick, every nibble, every pull of her lips - he would make her feel nothing at all with the heady glow hanging from his belt. A trade-off that suited the pair perfectly in a world where feeling and not feeling were equally hot commodities.

She turned her attentions to the head of his cock, brushing him feather-light with her lips and then, slowly, greedily taking him into her mouth. Further and further until he began to pound at her skull, desperate for release and _then_-

He groaned loudly and she could feel him sliding down her throat. She choked him down and a shiver passed through her body. Maybe his shiver, maybe her own.

By the time he'd pulled out and was doing up his pants, the glow rushed through Amber's veins.

_A pleasure doing business with you,_ she murmured as she fell back onto the gravel, as if it were soft as down.

_Nah,_ _Sweet_, he said, standing over her in sweaty triumph._ The pleasure was __**all**__ mine._


End file.
